


What This New World Will Do For Me

by Dragonsigma



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Altruism, Cute Kids, Gen, Guilt, M/M, Might add some crossovers later, Short Fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonsigma/pseuds/Dragonsigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My short writings for Star Trek. Some involve the divergence of the new timeline from the original, and others are just cute or interesting scenes I thought up that wouldn't fit into other stories but were too short to stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whose Destiny?

_How did you find me_ , the old man asks, as if Jim intended to stumble upon the strange Vulcan on this icy wasteland of a planet. As if it was supposed to happen, as if it was not some freak of chance but the workings of destiny. He has never much cared for destiny, if was in fact destiny that landed him with a brute of a stepfather, made him an angry delinquent with nothing to lose, cast him among the blood and burning bodies of a failed world and its tyrant king. If that’s what destiny wants of him, then screw destiny.

Spock might speak of parallel universes, of divergence and mathematical constants, but to Jim it just seems like excuses. Is he truly that confined, fated to follow in a dead man’s footsteps regardless of whether he has earned it? Is anything of him of worth, if it is not tied to this destiny?

But then, he thinks, if destiny has landed him here, with this amazing crew and a chance to finally do good in the universe, and already Spock speaks of unrecognizable divergence, then maybe it isn’t so bad.

He doesn't plan to listen to destiny.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the ramblings that later became the first part of This Time Around. Title of the work is taken from Les Miserables.


	2. Whose Destiny?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The requisite scene of incredible cuteness.

There were parrots  _everywhere_. The greenhouse swarmed with the iridescent birds considered status symbols by the colonists; evidently their host was making no secret of her wealth. 

"Sixteen different breeds of three distinct subspecies, if my observations are correct," Spock said, but Jim and Sulu were only half-listening, and Chekov was off who-knows-where with his date. 

"Well, we’d heard the governor was hella rich, but when she said she had an aviary I assumed she was exaggerating," Jim commented, rolling a long blue feather between his fingers. 

"It’s a pretty neat setup," Sulu said from a few paces off, where he was examining a vine-covered trellis. "The parrots’ droppings feed the fruit trees they eat from, and the rest of the garden. I’m thinking these," he gestured at the pods growing along the vine, "are used for cosmetics. I saw them in the reports."

"Sure," Jim said. It might be nice to see his crew so interested in their surroundings, but he knew from experience they’d be there for hours if people weren’t kept on task, and they had a dinner with the governor to get to. 

Apart from the fluttering of wings and the sound of water from somewhere, the place was unusually quiet for a room full of birds, and so Jim jumped when one of the parrots said clearly, in a high childish voice “Baby birdie! Baby birdie!” A few of the others quickly took up the cry. 

"Wonder where they learned that."

"Most likely from the Governor’s young daughter," Spock supplied. It made sense; the Governor’s family and a few assistants were probably the only people who had regular contact with the birds.

"Think it means anything? Or are they just… parroting?" Jim asked, unable to resist the joke. Spock, for his part, pretended not to notice.

They were leaving to prepare for the dinner when a small girl stepped nervously out into the hallway, something cupped in her hands.

"You’re the people from the spaceship, right?" she asked, staring up at them.

"Yup, that’s us," Jim replied cheerily. "And you’d be Miss Sarah?"

The girl brightened at hearing her name, then became serious. “Mama told me not to bother you… but I need help and she’s too busy!”

"What’s wrong?" Sulu asked, stepping forward. Jim smiled, realizing that in terms of being good with kids, he’d probably brought the best people along. Well, Spock not so much, but for the moment he didn’t seem like he was going to protest the encounter.

"I think Cloud is sick," she said, holding out her hands to reveal a little grey parrot chick. "He’s the baby birdie Mama let me have," she added, unessesarily. "He was fine and now his feathers look all sick," and the fluffy grey feathers sticking out in all directions did indeed look out-of-place. "Is he gonna be okay?" she asked, looking worried as only a child can.

"He’s molting," Sulu told her, with a gentle laugh. "It’s normal. After those feathers come out, he’ll get new colorful ones."

Sarah’s eyes widened and the fear dropped away. “Really!?” She ducked her head to the bird. “Did you hear that? You’re going to be pretty!” She twirled around, then remembered her audience and turned back. “Thank you!” she cried, and ran off down the hall.

"That was cute," Jim said, in the absence of any other useful comments.

"The child could have discovered that information with a basic database search-" Spock began, then stopped as the rest of the team started laughing. 

"Human kids aren’t like that, Spock," Jim said, teasingly, then "Now let’s get going. We don’t want to keep our hosts waiting." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt from Tumblr.


	3. The Forest of Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is illogical to yearn for that which one cannot have. But this is no longer out of reach. (Re-posting this into the short fics collection)

This barren planet is colder than he remembers. It is illogical to yearn for that which one cannot have, yet still he sometimes finds himself longing for the heat of Vulcan. Long years on frozen Delta Vega have never truly left him, despite the decades passed since then. Years of lonely rebuilding, lending what help he can to the remnants of his once proud race. Now, there is no more he can provide; the colony must continue to grow by its own might. There is one task left to him. 

Before him, the being he seeks looms bold in ancient stony reaches. It is eternal and constant, the relic of continuity locking divergent universes around a single point, allowing so many conflicting possibilities to exist beside each other and yet so far apart.

Touching and not, he thinks, and very nearly smiles. He looks to the arch of rock, and speaks. 

"You are the Guardian of all that was and will be, all possibilities across all of time."

I AM. WE HAVE MET BEFORE. 

"Far away from here. Though my other self might one day find his way to you."

YOU ARE NOT OF THIS UNIVERSE, YOU WHO COME TO ME AS YOU APPROACH THE END OF YOUR TIMELINE. YOU ARE SO FAR FROM HOME, LOST VULCAN. DO YOU SEEK TO BE RETURNED THERE?

"I had no home there when I left."

THEN WHAT IS IT YOU SEEK?

"My bondmate was a human. In my universe he was lost long before I left."

I OVERSEE COUNTLESS WORLDS, AND IN COUNTLESS WORLDS YOUR BOND IS KNOWN.

A fraction of infinity is still infinite, he knows. Basic mathematics. Yet he finds it comforting that the all-seeing Guardian would grace them with such a distinction.

HE WAS LOST TO THE NEXUS, AN INCOMPLETE WORLD THAT TOUCHES MANY OTHERS. HE SPENT A TIME THERE, AND THEN WAS RELEASED AT THE END OF HIS LIFESPAN. 

He considers this, pushing back an utterly illogical anger at the natural phenomenon that would dare take his love from him.

"I wish to travel to that point, to impart my katra to him…" But of course the Guardian knows Vulcan death rites, knows them more thoroughly than the Vulcans who developed them. Vulcans who still live, back in the universe of his birth. 

It is illogical to yearn for that which one cannot have. But this is no longer out of reach.

IT IS WITHIN MY POWER.

A moment of light like the heart of a star, and though all the universes of existence are infinite, after this tiny yet unforgettable restoration, there is somehow more order than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title (and story) are a reference to Mercedes Lackey's Valdemar books, where two legendary lovers are reunited as spirits in the Forest of Sorrows.


	4. Gryphons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The resemblance of these beings to aspects of Terran mythology is purely coincidental, Captain," Spock said, his I'm-a-serious-scientist demeanor somewhat spoiled by the inquisitive beak nuzzling at his chest. 

"The resemblance of these beings to aspects of Terran mythology is purely coincidental, Captain," Spock said, his I'm-a-serious-scientist demeanor somewhat spoiled by the inquisitive beak nuzzling at his chest.  

Jim pouted at him, stroking the head of another purring gryphon. "Doesn't stop them being really fucking cool. Think we could get a ride?" When he stepped back, the creature sat back on its haunches and tilted its head, giving a sad little sound. 

"It appears to enjoy the attention," Spock observed, as Jim moved back towards the gryphon and began stroking its wings.

"I know! Aren't they cute?" The gryphon squawked happily at that, as if it understood. "And that was a rhetorical question," he added, before Spock could tell him that cuteness was not a quantitative measurement.  "Think I could fly to that tree and back?" 

And before Spock could protest that this certainly wasn't safe, Jim pulled himself up on the gryphon's back and it leapt off the mountaintop.

"THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING LOOK SPOCK" 

_:We will keep him safe:_ the other gryphon promised, speaking into Spock's mind, calming the fear that had sparked there at the sight of his captain diving into the air with so little caution. 

The little gryphon had begun to nip at him to get attention. Spock simply sighed inwardly and stroked the feathery head, deciding quietly that the gryphons were cute, not that he was going to share that decision with Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt from Tumblr. Mind-speech formatting is borrowed from the Valdemar books.


	5. Mere Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no reason for what they said to hurt so much, not when all they said was the truth. But then, wasn't it his lack of reason that caused them to say it?

There was no reason for what they said to hurt so much, not when all they said was the truth. But then, wasn't it his lack of reason that caused them to say it? 

_"You're not one of us."_

_"Halfbreed."_

_"You could never learn the proper philosophy."_

All true. All unchangeable. However much he tried to behave like his proper pureblood classmates, they always knew he wasn't, and they would always know. 

"Mother says I should be proud as I am. Father says I need to try harder to fit in," the boy said, absently stroking the creature's furry head. But he wasn't really trying at all, was he? It was irrational, illogical, to believe that the sehlat might be listening. He shouldn't even be out here alone.  _Dangerous_ , his mother would say.  _Unreasonable,_  his father would say. Especially when there were still lessons to be studied. But he knew studying couldn't make him any more Vulcan, and no harm would come of staying a few minutes more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I actually wrote this before I saw the movie. Based off of a few moments in Journey to Babel and the deleted scene between Sarek and Amanda from the movie.


	6. A Very Human Trait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyota explains to Spock why humans enjoy sad stories. (Reposted into the short fic collection)

     Spock enters the study room where they had arranged to meet and quickly locates Nyota. She is reading something from her padd, and there are tears in her eyes- not typical behavior for a healthy human. He moves to her table and sits across from her. "Nyota. Are you well?"

     She looks up, putting the device on the table. "I'm fine, Spock." The answer is inconsistent with the evidence; he is confused.

     "You are crying," he observes.

     "It's not anything here, I'm just reading a sad book." She motions at the padd. Already, she seems more composed; there are no further tears. But why were there any in the first place?

     "I do not understand. Why would you read something that produces this reaction?" Her face takes on a look he knows well, the expression she makes when she explains a complex facet of Terran culture to him. She enjoys the challenge. If she ever chose to teach classes, he thinks, she would most likely be successful.

     "It's… Humans have a different perspective on emotion than Vulcans do."

     "I am aware of that." What sort of perspective would approve of this?

     "We enjoy all sorts of emotions, both positive and negative ones." 

     "That seems paradoxical." And illogical, but it is the kind of thing he has come to expect from humans.

     "It is, actually," she agrees. "I suppose it's just the idea of experiencing something? Sadness when there isn't any real damage. It's a release. Catharsis. And it allows you to feel all sorts of things outside your own life. It's exciting for us. We like to explore." 

     "I can see that humans would seek out such a thing. Although it seems needlessly chaotic." In his mind, one life is enough to handle; why would you wish to experience others? But humans are always seeking to do more, to know more, to see more. Unstable as it is, he can't help but admire it.

     "That's because Vulcans value reason and balance. Humans value experiences, good and bad. I still wonder whether we've got it wrong sometimes." Vulcans also value respect, however much that is disdained in practice, and he does not like to hear her demean her own species. 

     "If this philosophy functions for you, I would not call it 'wrong'."

     "It functions, yes. Better than some other parts of our culture regarding stories."

     "If you are referring to the cadets' propensity to invent unlikely excuses for missing work, or to spend their time watching entertaining media to the exclusion of studying, I would agree with you." She laughs, which he knows well is a sign of happiness. He takes out his own padd and the linguistics exercises she had asked him to bring for practice, although they both know she will complete them perfectly.


	7. Facing the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first disastrous mission is hard on all of them, but most especially on the Captain.

   The first disastrous mission is hard on all of them, but most especially on the Captain. Even without contact or speech, Spock can recognize the tension in his shoulders and the exhaustion on his face. 

     They return to the ship after solemnly receiving the Empress’s blessing, bringing with them the bodies of the three crewmembers killed in the rescue attempt. Their chess game is unusually, uncomfortably quiet without Kirk’s usual jokes and enthusiasm. 

     "You acted to the best of your abilities today. Many lives were saved because of your actions," Spock tells him, moving a knight in a calculated attack, and if the way Kirk relaxes a fraction is any indication, it offers the comfort countless other reassurances from Doctor McCoy and the head of Security and the Empress's ministers had failed to convey.

     “We lost three good people out there. I’m going to have to tell the families. And all the people from those villages…”

     “Many more were saved than were lost. They will rebuild."

     "Still.” Kirk shifts a piece on the chessboard, only half his attention on the game

     "It does no good to dwell on the past. You cannot change what happened."

     " _Kaiidth_ ” Kirk agrees. Spock blinks at him in surprise.

     "Captain, I was unaware you were knowledgeable on the subject of Vulcan language.”

     Unexpectedly, Kirk smiles at this. "What, Spock, you think I was going to have a Vulcan First and not read up on his species? Whatever Uhura has told you, I'm not  _that_  much of an insensitive jerk."

     "I did not intend to insult your intelligence.” He has again misjudged this man, been taken in by the carefree demeanor he presents to the world, hiding the mind and heart he truly possesses.

     “I know that. It’s all right. And you can call me Jim. I think we’re been through enough together.” And then, quieter, “I don’t want to have to be Captain all the time."

     A formal title is a sign of respect on many worlds, Spock knows, yet it also carries with it a weight of responsibility. And if Jim wants to be recognized for a time as a friend rather than a protector, doing so is in itself a form of respect.

     “Yes, Jim,” he says, and moves a piece, realizing that his victory is not as assured as he had assumed. As preoccupied as Jim appears, he has played skillfully, winning this challenge as he could not during their mission. 

     “Next time, that won’t happen. We’ll be prepared. Send word ahead for evacuations, have better equipment.” It is the indomitable spirit that has carried him through a life whose struggles Spock is only beginning to learn. But it takes more than one man to run a starship, and Spock thinks that he too must prepare to face the future, and hopes that both of them can live up to the standards they set for themselves.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a segment of This Time Around, but I felt it was more a study of Jim than of Spock, so I took it out.


	8. Princess

     Something's obviously not right, because he's in sickbay again and  _tired as shit_. But he opens his eyes anyway, because he certainly doesn't have anything better to do, and waves weakly to get McCoy's attention. The doctor walks over with a smirk that Jim knows from his Academy years means he's probably made a fool of himself in some way or another.

     "Well, good morning, princess."

     "What… Bones, you've called me some pretty weird things in the past, but this? Really?"

     "What? It's accurate. And here's your knight in shining armor here now."

     "Doctor, I object to being referred to in such nonsensical terms."

     "Is someone going to tell me what the hell happened?” Jim cuts in, before the two can get to arguing. 

     "It was all going perfectly fine, and I was getting on with that pretty secretary-"

     "You lost consciousness during the proceedings due to a combination of exhaustion, dehydration, and a lack of oxygen in the thin atmosphere."

    “If you’re done doing my job?”

    Jim groans. “Fuck. That probably made a _great_ impression. Can’t even keep on my feet. They’re probably still laughing at us.”

    “On the contrary,” Spock informs him, “they were quite apologetic and have gifted you several valuable items as a peace offering. I do not believe this… incident will complicate future discussion.”

     “And you’re back to business,” McCoy says. "Everything’s checked out, so skedaddle.” 

     He’s still a little dizzy as he sits up, Spock standing close and tense with concern, but the doctor’s probably right. He’ll go eat something and sleep some more, and hopefully tomorrow’s discussions will go more smoothly.

     Once they’re alone, Spock says, in a voice sterner than Jim’s heard in a long time, “You must take better care of yourself in future. This blatant disregard of your own health cannot continue. I do not appreciate seeing you so often ill or injured, Jim."

     The sarcastic retort he had planned dies away as his heart flips.

     “I’ve lived this long. Must be doing something right.”

     “That is no reason to be careless.” And he knows Spock well enough to know that there’s no way he’s going to get out of this situation without agreeing. 

     “Fine. I’ll try to be more careful. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

     “I was not-“ Spock begins, but Jim just smiles, because he’s beginning to remember the way Spock leapt for him when he fell, and he’s also fairly certain Spock _carried_  him down to sickbay. 

     He wonders if McCoy is ever going to run out of opportunities for fairy tale jokes. 


	9. A Good Deed Done Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no way Scotty could just ignore the starving kid they find in the colony's marketplace.

     They weren’t technically allowed to accept money for their services, but after Scotty fixed up her official hovercar, the governor had absolutely insisted he take the coins. He hadn’t made much of a show of refusing, being more than half charmed by her already. And in his turn, he had insisted on sharing, which was how Jim ended up wandering the colony’s marketplace with Spock on one side and Scotty on the other, at least when one of them hadn’t been drawn in by something he’d spotted at a stall. 

     Soon enough, Spock was carrying a neatly-wrapped case of glass lenses, and Scotty was  holding a basket of gadgets and homemade snacks, with the meat-stuffed rolls he was currently eating piled on top. 

     “I’ll probably regret asking this,” Jim began, pointing with his own half-eaten roll at a weird multi-legged metal thing that had curled itself around the edge of the basket, “but what is that supposed to do?” 

     “What, this?” Scotty said, reaching over to pat the thing as if it was some sort of small animal, "It doesn’t do anything, except look cute.” The robot spider, or whatever it was, hummed and unfolded its legs.

     “Just make sure it doesn’t kill you in your sleep or something.” Jim gave the thing a suspicious glare before another stall caught his attention.

     “Hey, Spock, look! Books!” He stuffed the rest of the roll into his mouth and strode over to the tables piled with antique books, off-world scrolls, and some framed prints of famous quotes. 

     “You could access any of these texts on the ship’s computers,” Spock said, but Jim could tell he was interested too; he was already gently unrolling one of the scrolls. 

     “Yeah, but it’s not the same. I like having a few old books around.” He moved around to the other side of the table and opened one of the dusty volumes. He was paging though what turned out to be some medieval Chinese star charts when he heard the yelp, and looked up to see Spock holding a boy by the arm, one of Scotty’s rolls clutched in the kid’s hand. 

     “I do not expect that theft is tolerated on this planet,” Spock said, in the sort of tone that Jim had seen terrify new ensigns, and the boy shrank back, dropping the food to the ground, and struggled uselessly to free himself. 

     "Let me go! I’m sorry! I’ll leave you alone, just let me go!”

     “If you mean to escape proper consequences-“ Spock began, but then Scotty cut in.

     “Aw, come off it, Mr. Spock, you’re scaring the poor lad.” 

     Spock released his grip, but instead of bolting as Jim had expected, the kid stood where he was.

     “Don’t call the wardens. Just, please, don’t call the wardens,” he begged, rubbing at his wrist and staring around at the three men.         

     Jim came around the table to get a good look at the shaking, ragged boy. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen. “It’s all right,” he said, holding out his empty hands in what he hoped was an unthreatening gesture, “We’re not going to report you.”

     “You intend to allow this child to break the law?” Spock protested.

     “Spock.” Jim looked at him, trying to appeal to the compassion he _knew_  was there. “Look at him. He was going for the food. If he was just looking for money, he’d have tried for something else. I’m not getting him arrested for trying to survive.”

     “Surely there are other options-"

     “Didn’t you have charity on Vulcan?” Jim said, and then regretted it; he hadn’t meant to drag Spock’s dead homeworld into this. 

     Spock looked surprised, even if his expression didn’t change. “There was… no need. There were offices where people who required food or housing might go to seek such things." 

     “Well, it’s not so perfect everywhere else."

     Scotty knelt down to the boy’s level. “You look half-starved, lad! Better mind you don’t fade away entirely,” he said, and fished the last roll out of his basket. He held it out to the kid, who eagerly grabbed it, and ate it in three hungry bites, as if he thought this stranger would reconsider and take the food away from him.

     “And after you’ve finished that, I’ll get you some more.”

     “We could easily retrieve food from the Enterprise,” Spock said, "You do not need to spend your reward on this."

     “The lady gave the money to me, and I’m deciding how we go about spending it.”

     “What’s your name, kid?” Jim asked, as the kid licked the last crumbs from his fingers.

     “Harley…sir."

     “Do you have any family?"

     “Nah. I’ve been living on my own since my sister went into space.” 

     “Do you have somewhere to sleep?”

     The boy looked down. “Not really. The shopkeepers always chase me out."  

     "Is there no system in place for caring for the disadvantaged?” Spock asked, a thread of outrage under the words. 

     “Not here,” Harley said, shaking his head. "There’s not enough of us.”

     Jim would bring that up with the governor tomorrow. It shouldn’t be allowed. People shouldn’t have to suffer when there was no reason for it. He wasn’t going to let that happen again. 

     “The governor supplied us with extra rooms,” Spock said. “We could easily vacate one for this child’s use.”

     Jim smiled. “I knew you cared.” 

     Harley looked up, astonished. “You’re… you’re not looking for anything in return?”

     “Nope. If we can fix this place up for other people who need help, that’ll be enough."

     “But first,” Scotty said, grinning at the boy, “We’re getting you a real supper."


	10. A Guilty Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're blaming yourself for this, aren't you?"

     He remembers it all, in detail that will never fade. Jim struggling to speak and unable to breathe, directing Spock to the emergency medication he had found and administered. That medication doing little to slow the reaction as Spock summoned the medical staff. The panicked beating of his heart he hadn’t spared the focus to slow until he could hear his captain breathing again and saw McCoy step back and swear in relief. 

     And he is suddenly, irrationally, afraid of what the doctor will say to him, because there is no way he can escape his responsibility in this near-disaster; the pot of Vulcan tea still sits on the table, slowly turning cold, one cup overturned where Jim’s hands had knocked it, dripping tea onto the floor. He should have known, he should have checked—a simple chemical scan would have been enough to reveal that the spices would trigger an anaphylactic reaction—and the realization shames him. 

     But all the doctor says is, “You did the right thing, Spock. Any longer and we really would’ve been in trouble.” There’s an layer of trust there, a faith Spock knows he does not deserve. “I had to sedate him—he’ll be out for a few hours. You up for staying with him? There shouldn’t be anything else to worry about, not that you would, of course, but just for safety’s sake.”

     “Yes, Doctor. I will supervise him,” he says, because it is the only thing he can say, though it does nothing to offset what has happened. He helps McCoy get Jim into bed, and then the doctor leaves, and Spock is left to wait. He takes a few moments to clean up the spilled tea and dispose of the rest. He cannot drink it, not now. Something in the back of his mind says that such profound remorse is illogical, but he pushes that thought aside. His thoughts are in turmoil, yet he dare not meditate, in case he misses a change in Jim’s condition and again endangers his captain through his carelessness. He sits in the dark, listening to Jim breathing, while the chaos calms slowly, forming into a guilt that settles over him and does not fade. 

     He is supposed to protect the Captain, guide him, challenge him. And yet he has threatened his life. The guilt sits in his heart like pain. It is an ache unrelated to the physical systems of the body, a purely psychological pain he should be able to block. But to shield himself from this feels somehow inappropriate. Unjust. He has done wrong; he should not escape the consequences.

     Jim stirs, and wakes, groaning and rubbing at his throat. “Fuck, that was awful,” he says, his voice rough, and then he notices Spock. “Hey.” It likely pains him to speak, and yet he does, offering a warm greeting as if nothing has changed between them. "Sorry you had to deal with that. How long have you been here?” 

     “I have not left.” A direct question is easy enough to answer. But Spock has not considered what else he will say now that Jim is awake, but he knows that the subject of his guilt cannot be avoided.

     “Of course.” Jim gives a faint laugh, which turns into a cough, and Spock feels a spike of alarm before the coughing subsides. “Don’t worry,” Jim manages, waving away the concern. "Thanks for saving me. You reacted better than most people would. Last time this happened, Mitchell totally freaked. If Bones hadn’t been right there…”

     Some part of him is nearly amused by the irony of Jim thanking him; if not for him, this situation never would have occurred. 

     “I must… apologize. I have endangered you."

     “What are you talking about? You’re the one who got the hypo and called Bones…” and then he pauses, realizing what is so obvious to Spock. “It was the tea,” he groans, and Spock waits for the inevitable accusation. But Jim's next words are unexpected. "Fuck, you’re blaming yourself for this, aren’t you?” No, not unexpected. He has experienced his captain’s kindness too often for it to be a surprise.

     Spock looks away, and does not answer. 

     “It’s not your fault, Spock. It’s not your fault. You got that?” 

     “I fail to see how it can be anything but, when I served you the tea without first ascertaining that it would be safe for you to consume,” Spock says with quiet certainty.

     “You had no way of knowing,” Jim retorts. "If anyone should’ve been checking, it should have been me.”

     “Even so, my carelessness is unforgivable. I could have killed you.” There should not be so much pain in saying what is true, yet speaking the words still hurts.

     Jim sighs. “Well, you didn’t. I’ve done stupider stuff and lived. This is nothing.” 

     “I could have killed you,” Spock repeats. 

     “Spock. Listen to me. It’s not your fault. And anyway, _logically_ , I’m fine now, so isn’t that what matters?” Jim seems determined to assuage his guilt, and Spock gives in to the comfort offered, although it will not—nor will he let it—fully erase the weight in his mind. Jim may have forgiven him for this, and for the other times Spock’s actions have threatened his life, but he will not forgive himself so easily. He will at least appear to have accepted the judgement; it would distress Jim to think he has not.

     “What time is it?” Jim asks, after they are silent for a while. 

     “0300 hours. Dr. McCoy has removed you from Alpha Shift so that you may rest. I will take on command for that time.”

     “Then you better go get some sleep. I’ll be fine.” It is a reasonable suggestion, and one Spock does not protest. But he cannot sleep until he has ordered his disarrayed thoughts.

     Spock’s meditation is eased by knowing Jim is safe, and that he will never allow such harm to come to him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had this idea for a long time.  
> Now if only I could put all this inspiration and work into chapters for the fics I need to finish...


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